


The Old Commandments Stand

by pristineungift



Series: Confessors and Kings [2]
Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adult Content, Adultery, Alternate Universe, Dark, Drama, F/F, F/M, Gen, Horror, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-13
Updated: 2012-03-13
Packaged: 2017-11-01 22:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pristineungift/pseuds/pristineungift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel to <i>For All That We Have and Are</i>. Kahlan has confessed Darken Rahl and taken him as her mate in order to become ruler of D’Hara, but none but he and her Sister Confessors know that he is under her power. Pushed and pulled between two worlds, Kahlan must decide whether to forge a new path, or if the old commandments stand. AU. Darken/Kahlan, Darken/Cara, Darken/Salindra, Kahlan/Salindra, Zedd/Serena, Richard/Darken if you squint. Written for lotspornbattle.</p><p><b>Prompts:</b> Cara/Darken: Sub!Darken, sometimes he needs the pain; First Mistress. Darken/Kahlan: pleasure and love are two different things; infidelity; the tenderest touch leaves the darkest mark; Darken likes it when her eyes swirl black. I also used “pleasure and love are two different things” for Kahlan/Salindra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> All lines of poetry are from Rudyard Kipling’s _For All We Have and Are_. Lines you recognize are from Destiny, Sacrifice, and Reckoning. Special thanks goes to evilgmbethy for heavily influencing the way I see confession, Richard, and Mother Confessor Serena, and being a sounding board during this writing process. Thanks to brontefanatic for betaing. Also thanks to madmguillotin, who has heavily influenced my portrayal of Salindra.

  


_For all we have and are,  
For all our children's fate,  
Stand up and take the war.  
The Hun is at the gate!  
Our world has passed away,  
In wantonness o'erthrown.  
There is nothing left to-day  
But steel and fire and stone!_

_-For All We Have and Are_ , Rudyard Kipling

-l-

“You sent him to Mistress Cara again?” Salindra asked from her position in the window seat in Kahlan’s sitting room. She worked at some sewing in her lap – swaddling clothes for the heir that would soon be born to D’Hara.

Kahlan, wedded to Darken Rahl this past year gone and heavy with his child, looked up from her desk, where she was reading correspondence. “I’m tired, and people would talk if he stopped dallying with his Mord’Sith.”

Salindra pursed her lips, placing her needle in the edge of the cloth she worked, then carefully folding the cloth into the basket at her feet. “I don’t know how you did it, but you made him fall in love with you. He’d stay true if you let him.”

“I don’t know how I did it either,” Kahlan lied, her mouth dry. “He would look weak if he didn’t have concubines and Mord’Sith. You yourself told me that, when we arrived here. And he has promised me to never spill his seed in any woman save me.”

She had ordered him, of course. It wouldn’t do to have any bastard sons competing with her daughter for the throne. Not when D’Hara was a land that favored males in the line of succession.

Salindra snorted, going to sit across from Kahlan. “I know what I told you. But I haven’t been your lady in waiting for a year for nothing. I can see something is bothering you.”

“It’s nothing. Certainly not anything Lord Rahl has done.”

“Do you love him?” Salindra asked in that frank way she had, as disarming as any Confessor.

Kahlan looked up, her mouth dry. “Can you love a dog at your heels?”

Salindra laughed, a bright sound that reminded Kahlan of shooting stars. “Yes, absolutely,” was her answer. “A dog is easier to love than a man. A dog will never betray you.”

Kahlan felt a chill, then pressed her hand to her stomach as her child turned within her, roused perhaps by her sudden upset. “Are we still talking about my husband?” she whispered.

Salindra sat back in her chair, a knowing smirk on her lips. “You tell me, my lady.”

Kahlan sometimes wished Salindra was not so dangerously perceptive. She lived in horror of the day she would have to confess her one and only friend, to keep her secret safe. D’Hara would not suffer their lord to be confessed, their queen to be a Confessor. Everything depended upon keeping up the pretense of the fairy tale – a young concubine capturing the heart of a king in a whirlwind romance.

Happy ever after.

Kahlan had thought confessing Darken Rahl to be the end of her quest. It had taken only days to sink in that it was the beginning. But she had to stay strong. For the Midlands. For the Mother Confessor. For her Sisterhood.

For their children’s fate.

Kahlan looked down at the letter in her hands. It was from her sister, Dennee. To any besides Kahlan it would make little sense – they had to be careful even now, speaking in the vaguest terms. But Kahlan knew what was meant. It brought a lump to her throat.

_Sister,_

_I have had my child. A boy. I had hoped to keep him since we are so few._

_But Mother says the old commandments stand._

Kahlan’s eyes blurred with tears she would not shed.

 **-l-**  
Cara moaned, tangling her fingers in Darken’s hair, arching her hips as he knelt between her legs, skilled tongue sending shocks of pleasure through her.

Lord Rahl had been very submissive to her desires since taking a queen. Cara thought it because unimaginative Queen Kahlan was unable to match her lord in the bedchamber. Their couplings were most likely things of lackluster pleasure, ordinary embraces designed to conceive an heir.

Cara knew Darken Rahl. He was a man of dominance, yes. But at times, he needed to be ruled.

He needed pain.

She pulled his hair, her nails raking his scalp, locking her legs around his shoulders. “More,” she demanded, tossing her head back, lips slightly parted. Her breasts heaved, Darken snaking one hand up her side to tweak a rosy nipple.

She freed one hand, reaching for the Agiel that rested on the dark oak table to her left. The pain that shot up her arm as she grasped it put a hard edge on the pleasure building low in her belly.

Darken raised his face, his blue eyes sparking with lust, and she struck him, a hiss of air escaping her lips. She dug the Agiel into his jaw bone, watching red-black lines of torture magic highlight his veins.

Darken Rahl thought of his mistress.

His mistress wanted him to please Cara, and so he did. On this night, and on others, he came to his First Mistress, lathed her with his tongue, made her writhe upon his fingers, held her down and ran the tip of his hard cock along her lips.

But it was his wife, his mistress, his sweet Kahlan that he thought of. Only she could inspire such lust in him. His cries were for her, his pleasure rooted in imagining her beautiful face. She carried his child now, and the thought alone was enough to send him into fits of passion, his engorged cock purple and twitching.

Cara pulled on his hair, and Darken looked up, seeing only Kahlan.

She smiled – a sharp feral thing. Darken rose from his knees, sliding up along her body to take those soft pink lips in a hard kiss.

When Kahlan smiled, really smiled, it was softer. Little lines formed around her eyes, and the air around her seemed brighter. It was Darken’s greatest ambition to have that look turned upon him. He saw it now only when his wife’s attention was on the babe that grew inside her, and at times when she was with Salindra.

Cara bit his lips, and he growled at her, roughly shoving her over onto her hands and knees so that he could mount her from behind. She was tight and hot around him, her grunts and moans designed to entice him as she thrust the sweet curve of her buttocks back against his thrusts.

But she was not his mistress.

Darken closed his eyes, his orgasm building as he imagined Kahlan’s voice, the toss of her dark hair, the black swirl of her eyes when she climaxed, the power of her love ripping through them both.

“You’re thinking of her,” Cara snarled, her knuckles white on the headboard of the bed. The wood thumped into the wall now as Darken thrust harder, faster, beginning to pant with the motion, sweat shining on his chest.

“Always,” he groaned, his balls drawing up.

He thrust into her one last, delicious time, and then pulled out.

Cara felt a hot splash on her back as he came, a now familiar feeling.

 **-l-**  
“Mother Confessor.”

Serena looked up, startled out of deep thought. There were dark circles beneath her eyes brought on from too many nights of little sleep, too many days of worry, too many friends lost, too few things to hope for.

“What is it Dennee?” Serena asked, sounding every day of her age.

“Word from my sister. Kahlan says she will give birth soon, and her claim to the throne solidified, but she dares not push for more change until then. Already there are whispers that Darken Rahl’s queen has an unnatural hold on him, tells him to turn his troops back. She fears discovery.”

Dennee was thin, unnaturally so, her manner detached, face blank.

She had not forgiven Serena for forcing her to face the Ritual of the Waters. Serena frowned, but did not begrudge the younger Confessor her anger. A male Confessor could not be suffered to live. Serena knew that better than most.

She did not need Dennee’s forgiveness.

“Does she know what is at stake? We cannot hold Aydindril much longer. Our supplies dwindle. If the line breaks before she is able to pull the D’Haran forces back –”

“She knows!” Dennee interrupted, her face tight.

Serena fell silent, her hand seeking out the pendant she wore at her throat. It was a locket containing a lock of hair from her own son – the male Confessor boy she had hidden, and later had to kill before he destroyed all she held dear.

“Your son – ” she started.

“My son is dead,” Dennee finished.

“You know why.”

When Dennee spoke it was with a whisper so soft Serena almost didn’t hear it. “Yes.”

“If Kahlan cannot do more, then we will have to take matters into our own hands. We must find a way to the Seeker,” Serena said after a long moment.

Dennee’s brows arched in surprise, the first true expression she had made since entering the room. “The Night Wisps are gone. That is why Kahlan was sent to D’Hara. There is no way across the Boundary.”

Serena stood, smiling without mirth. “We are desperate now, my child. Our last plan is not working quickly enough.”

Unspoken went her fears that it was not a flaw in the plan, but a flaw in Kahlan that stalled their salvation. Kahlan was young, as Serena had once been young.

The young often do foolish things out of misplaced trust.

Imagined love.

“In desperation, there is no harm in hoping for the impossible.” Serena went to the locked cabinet in the far corner of her council chambers. There, in the third drawer with the silver keyhole, beneath a false bottom, rested _The Book of Counted Shadows_.

Serena retrieved it, holding it up to the light.

“You’re sending someone to the Boundary?”

“No,” Serena answered. “ _I_ am going to the Boundary.”

It was time she took to war.

 ** **-l-****  
“My lady, you’ve done it!”

Kahlan laid in the center of her massive bed in a plain cotton nightgown. Maids with linens and buckets of water bustled about, taking away her dirty sheets, opening the windows to let fresh air into the room, and assisting the healers that had attended to Kahlan in child bed.

Weary, her dark curls sticking to skin pale from exhaustion, Kahlan looked into Salindra’s smiling face. “She’s here? My daughter?”

“The heir is perfect,” Salindra assured her, patting a damp cloth over Kahlan’s brow. “He’s been taken to Lord Rahl, to be named.”

“He?!” Kahlan sat bolt upright, then swayed, dizzy with the movement. “A boy?”

“Yes, a boy. You’ve done better than we hoped. A princess would have ensured you a place in the palace for all your days. But a prince! With the first born prince as your son, Lord Rahl will never cast you off.”

A woman with more romantic sensibilities might have found Salindra’s words offensive. Kahlan was not a woman of romantic sensibilities.

After all, she was using Darken Rahl for far more than a secure future.

Smirking, Salindra winked, “Not that he would have anyway. You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger.”

Kahlan felt sick.

“A boy. It’s never happened twice in one generation,” she murmured to herself.

“What hasn’t?”

Kahlan blinked, refocusing to see Salindra giving her a sharp look.

“Nothing. Please. Send all these people away, and tell my husband I wish him to come to me.”

Salindra cocked one eyebrow, but nodded.

In moments that felt like years, and yet passed all too quickly, Darken Rahl strode into Kahlan’s bedchamber, a bundle in his arms.

“May I present the young Master Rahl.” Pride and love beamed from his blue eyes.

“No!” Kahlan turned her face away. She hadn’t wanted to see the child. The boy. What she had to do, what she had to order Darken to do would be easier if she never laid eyes on the babe.

“No?” Darken paused, an unsure note creeping into his voice. Kahlan was glad they were alone, for it was not a tone a king should use. Especially a king like Darken Rahl.

“I thought you would want to see him, Kahlan. Our son. I’ve named him Nicholas,” Darken told her eagerly, though he stayed where he was. He would not approach the bed again until she told him. “But if you don’t like Nicholas, we will of course choose something else.”

Kahlan’s heart pounded in her ears. She felt hot, flushed, her head stuffed with cotton, her temples pierced with pain. Was the boy’s name the only thing that concerned Darken?

She wasn’t being fair, she knew. The man was confessed.

The babe fussed and began to cry, and Darken awkwardly shushed him, jiggling him in his arms. “I’ve never held a baby before,” he admitted, and Kahlan knew he spoke the truth.

He looked so happy.

The child cried on.

“Please, Kahlan, he needs his mother!”

In a moment of weakness, Kahlan held out her arms.

 ** **-l-****  
Adie, called the Bone Lady by some, clutched her Night Stone tightly in her fist, holding her breath as she stepped into the green fire that made up the Boundary. The Shadow People, spirits of the underworld, called to her, but with the help of the Night Stone, she ignored them, pushing on.

It was like walking through water that did not move – passing through a waterfall to emerge on the other side. Though the wall separating Westland from the Midlands was made of verdant light, it was cold, chilling her bones, a feeling that lingered, clinging to the skin.

She let out a breath, as she always did, when she finally passed through to the other side, giving a shiver.

“Bone Lady,” a voice called.

A woman’s voice. Not the voice of the trader Adie came to meet, the trader who gave her things unseen in Westland in return for herbs unavailable in the Midlands.

“Adie is called the Bone Lady,” she replied, hunching in on herself to make herself look older, slower, more harmless. “You aren’t the trader. What you want with old Adie?”

“I want a path through the Boundary,” the woman said.

Adie turned her milky eyes on the speaker. She was cloaked in black, but her dress was white. Torn, muddy, yes – but white.

Adie saw more than people thought she could.

“Confessor. No one goes through the Boundary.”

“If you can see that I am a Confessor, then you know how foolish it is to lie to me,” Serena replied, voice strong. “I know you have a way. You have just come through it – I watched from the hill top. Does a Night Wisp aid you?”

Pursing her lips and sucking at her teeth, Adie pulled her Night Stone from the folds of her dress. “Not a Night Wisp. They’s all gone. Hidden. But Adie has the Night Stone, infused with their power.”

Serena held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

Adie considered for a long moment, long enough that the Confessor raised her hand in that pose that all knew meant confession was imminent.

“It won’t last forever,” Adie held out the stone. “The magic fades as Adie uses it.”

“I only need it to work long enough to fetch the Seeker,” Serena said as she took the stone from Adie’s shaking fingers.

Then she walked into the wall of fire.

 ** **-l-****  
Every morning, Kahlan planned her son’s murder.

She would order Darken to smother him. Claim he died in the crib, as infants sometimes did. It was vital that his death seem an accident, so that she could try again.

She had to try again.

She had to bear a daughter to take the throne. A daughter to save them all.

So she would get up, resolute, her son’s death sentence on her tongue.

And then Darken would smile at her, love for her in his eyes, and she would find as she did every morning that she could not bear to make him do it.

He was a monster. He ordered the slaughter of Brennidon. His hands were stained so red that all the waters of the sea could not wash them clean.

He was confessed.

In the early days he had told her all – of monstrous deeds driven by an all-consuming fear of destiny, a hatred of his father, a determination to be better.

To be loved.

He wept. He repented. He whispered every unkind thought, every harsh word, every stroke of the knife into her ears until she had wanted to kill him herself, order him to die, until his evil filled her up, poisoning her even as he was freed.

He was confessed.

He held her in the night, smiled in the day, used every bit of skill and cunning he had once bent on global conquest to please her, to try to make her happy. It was an impossible task.

But he was confessed.

And he was hers. Mind, soul, and body.

And in some strange way, she had become his. He was the only person for leagues that knew her – who she truly was. He listened to her ravings, often surprising her with his insight. He loved her, looked to her for guidance, tried every day to be the man she expected him to be.

It had surprised her, for never before had she spent any great amount of time with those she took with her power. He was confessed, but he was not mindless.

And Kahlan could not make him kill her son.

She could not face the look in his eye, could not listen to the disappointment in his voice as he obeyed. Could not bring herself to give an order that Darken Rahl the Great Destroyer would hesitate to follow.

She couldn’t take his salvation away.

No matter. She would do it herself.

But not today. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would send Darken away, would distract the guards, and she would hold a pillow over Nicholas’ face.

Not Nicholas. The boy.

“Tomorrow I’ll kill him,” she said aloud, to give the idea concrete form.

It is a strange thing when a Confessor cannot tell a truth from a lie.

Stranger still when they are the speaker.

 ** **-l-****  
Zedd was watching the clouds, the wind against his bare skin. Standing naked between earth and sky , he opened himself to the whisperings of the wind, the ineffable stirrings of forces unseen – trying to make sense of it all, as his old lover Shota the Witch Woman did with such ease. He held his pet chicken, Clara, in two hands, idly stroking her.

There was a dark omen on the horizon that he liked not at all. More than that, he could not say. He did not have Shota’s talent for foresight.

“Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander. It’s been too long.”

Zedd stiffened, the hairs on the back of his neck rising along with the power in his veins to be addressed as such. Without turning he plastered an idiotic grin on his face and answered, “I’m sorry, you must have me confused with someone else.”

“I am not mistaken. I came looking for the Great Zeddicus, and I have found him.”

Zedd recognized that voice. At last he faced his visitor.

“Serena,” he greeted her, thinking of the clouds looming beyond the mountains. “I should have known.”

“You know why I’ve come,” Serena smiled, her eyes raking down Zedd’s body. He had aged well, she decided.

Zedd sighed, putting Clara down, then grabbing up the simple robes he’d left sitting on a nearby tree stump. “I know why you’ve come. How did you manage it?”

“No matter. Take me to the Seeker.”

Finished dressing, Zedd rounded on her, taking in her appearance for the first time. She was still Serena. Still beautiful, proud, a woman of iron will.

But tired. She looked so very tired.

“And if I refuse? If I say I will not Name him?”

Serena did not flinch. “I will confess you, and you will do it anyway.”

They stared at each other in silence.

It was Serena who broke the stillness. “My people – our world – is passing away, Zeddicus. I will stop it – I _must_ stop it. Every moment we dally here, this war rages on. Neither side will give, neither side will win. Soon there will be nothing left of what was.”

“And you would confess me to save the world. Will you also confess the Seeker if he doesn’t want to go with us?”

Feeling echoes of an old pain, razor blades in her gut, Serena looked at Zedd with dead eyes. “Sometimes you must destroy something to save it.”

She touched the locket at her throat. The locket that held one golden curl from a little boy who had grown up to slaughter all those around him.

Zedd remembered Serena’s son. He remembered the sound of her sobs as she did what had to be done. He remembered holding her that night.

“I will take you to the Seeker.”

 ** **-l-****  
It was another day, and Nicholas still lived.

“Kahlan,” Salindra’s voice startled her, making her jump in her seat. “You’ve been sitting there so long the ink has dried on your quill.”

Kahlan looked down at the splotched parchment on the desk before her, and realized Salindra was right. Sighing, she put the quill down, then rubbed at her temples.

Nimble fingers took over, then pulled out the combs that held back Kahlan’s dark hair, massaging her scalp. Kahlan moaned, leaning back into Salindra’s hands.

Salindra smirked to herself, pleased to have evoked such a reaction.

Kahlan felt as if she were on a precipice with empty air and a long fall on either side. She had never questioned the practice of killing male Confessors. She always accepted it as necessary.

Until she made the mistake of being persuaded to hold her son. Allowed him to nurse. It had been only once, and yet once was enough to make her love him.

She was torn between duty and a mother’s love, so much so that she sometimes felt as if she had been split into two people. One moment she was prepared to face what had to be done, the next she was caught up in some complicated plot to ensure that her son grew up well, with a mother and father who never tried to hurt him, never touched him with an Agiel, no matter that it was expected of the Rahl heir.

Never bound his hands.

“You haven’t commented on my avoiding the nursery,” Kahlan heard herself say as Salindra began to massage her shoulders. The blonde woman’s hands were firm, skilled, finding and working at all the knots that Kahlan had not even known were there. She groaned, motioning for Salindra to press harder.

“Why would I comment on it? It’s no fault to dislike children. I myself can’t stand them.”

Shocked, Kahlan turned to look up at Salindra, who winked at her. “Don’t look at me like that. “

“It’s not that I don’t… I mean, I’ve never really been around children.” That at least was true, if not _the_ truth. With the land torn by war, few Confessors had taken mates.

“He has a wet nurse, and he won’t know the difference. You can get to know him later, once he’s stopped regularly soiling himself.” Salindra scrunched her face up in such a comical expression of distaste that Kahlan could not help but laugh.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you do that,” Salindra whispered, her breath against the back of Kahlan’s neck.

“Sometimes it’s hard to find a reason,” was Kahlan’s reply, her eyes sinking closed.

She froze when Salindra placed a soft kiss on her neck, but did not immediately stop her. Taking the lack of protest as encouragement, Salindra parted her lips, letting the barest tip of her tongue wet Kahlan’s skin. Gently, she massaged at muscles hard with tension, following her fingers with soft, moist kisses and little exhalations of warm air.

Something stirred low in Kahlan’s belly. A lazy arousal, present but not pressing. Salindra kissed her pulse point, and Kahlan felt her nipples harden, the sensitive flesh pressed against the confining fabric of her corset.

She had denied herself Darken’s touch since Nicholas was conceived. She told herself it was because he was disgusting. Because she hated him.

The truth was she was frightened by the way Darken made her feel. By the craving she had for his touch, his body.

Salindra slipped one of her fingers below the neckline of Kahlan’s dress, scraping her nail along the top of Kahlan’s breasts. It was a small touch, but it ignited a fire at Kahlan’s core. She gasped, wetness pooling between her thighs.

“Salindra, what are you doing?” Her voice was breathy. She had to stop this.

“Helping you relax. You’re wound tight as a clockmaker’s prize piece,” Salindra answered matter of factly.

She slid her finger lower, grazing one of Kahlan’s nipples. Kahlan moaned, red faced, unable to stop her hips from jerking.

“Salindra, no. We can’t – ”

Salindra pulled Kahlan’s chair back from the desk with a loud scrape, then sat in her lap, straddling her, her skirts ballooning up around them. Her breasts were pressed to Kahlan’s, and it felt so good it made Kahlan sputter, forgetting what she was going to say.

It had been so long since she felt truly wanted. Darken always wanted her, but Darken had no choice.

Salindra kissed her, softly, gently, and then more demanding, somehow imbuing the act with the wicked cheer Kahlan had long come to associate with her friend. Before Kahlan knew it, her hands were in Salindra’s hair, and Salindra’s were in hers, a low moan rising out of her throat.

Kahlan felt her inner muscles flutter, aching and wanting, a sweet passion brewing there that was becoming more urgent.

She pushed Salindra off her lap, eyes wide in panic.

“This can _never_ be,” she said in a voice that shook.

Sprawled on the floor, hair and dress disheveled and pride in tatters, Salindra glared. Calmly, she picked herself up.

“Salindra – ”

“No, it’s alright,” the blonde said softly, then smiled.

But it was not the mischievous look Kahlan was used to. All the warmth was gone.

“Salindra, please! I don’t want to hurt you,” Kahlan pleaded, standing to reach for the other woman. She wished she could explain, tell Salindra everything.

That she wanted to love her. That she _did_ love her, though she had realized it only in this moment.

That she didn’t want to lose her to confession.

Pretty as a picture, as delicate as a flower, Salindra affected a flirtatious laugh, her golden hair swaying behind her as she tossed her head. “Hurt me? Don’t be silly, Kahlan. Pleasure isn’t love. You know that.”

And then she sashayed from the room, her head held high, every step of her delicate slippers a dagger in Kahlan’s heart.

 ** **-l-****  
Darken was holding court when his mistress found him. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders , and there was a flush in her cheeks. Catching sight of her, Darken thought she looked beautiful this way. She was always beautiful, of course, but like this she reminded him of the first time he had seen her – a timid concubine with the bearing of a queen.

He held up two fingers, signaling his attendants to hold the next petitioner as Kahlan approached. He longed to go to her, to press kisses to her hands, her eyelids, her lips, but she had long ago ordered him that he must not. When they were in public, he had to behave as Lord Rahl.

That was what Kahlan wanted, so Darken obeyed.

She reached the throne dais and Darken rose to meet her, taking the hand she offered to him and kissing it.

“My love, what is it?” he asked, his mouth against her skin. He knew that she liked that, the feel of his lips and voice against her skin. She was quite adamant when they made love, and he did his best to remember everything she said, so that he might please her better in the future.

“Come with me to my chambers. Now,” Kahlan ordered, something ugly in her heart even as her loins clenched with want.

She needed release, in more than one way, or she would go mad. Even now she struggled to maintain her control on her power of confession. It roiled beneath her skin like some great beast, a hound with mighty jaws trying to break the chains that held it.

“Of course,” Darken said, tucking Kahlan’s arm into his to escort her from the room.

They left the way Kahlan had come, without so much as a by your leave.

Cara watched them from her place standing to the right of the throne, her eyes narrowed. Once they passed out of sight, she stepped forward and announced that Lord Rahl would hear no more petitions that day.

Then she followed Lord Rahl and his queen.

 ** **-l-****  
As soon as the bedchamber door closed behind them, Kahlan pressed Darken to the wall, kissing him with a passion fueled by conflicting emotion. He responded eagerly, his hands gentle on her back, his lips soft. Already she could feel the hot, hard bulge of his arousal against her stomach, and she moaned in response, grinding her hips against his.

He picked her up, carrying her to the bed before gently setting her down. There was reverence in his every motion, love in every caress, tenderness in the way he placed soft kisses along her neck, then her brow, before crushing his lips to hers in a way that said he loved her without a word.

Kahlan didn’t want his love.

The sweet looks, the soft sighs, the longing spark in his blue eyes all made her feel monstrous. Tainted. What did Darken Rahl know of love? Would he even be capable of it were he not confessed? What kind of fiend did it make her, that some part of her craved it, fed on it, believed the lie her magic created?

Sometimes the tenderest touch leaves the darkest mark. Kahlan often felt that she and Darken were bound together, soul to soul with a golden cord made up of love and hate. She tied them together the night she confessed him, bundled them up in a knot of sex and blood. He was marked by her forever, the light of her love shining back at her from his face.

And she was marked by him, darkness shading her heart, growing ever darker. Saving him, forgiving him as she had to to keep herself from killing him made her a monster.

Or perhaps she’d been one all along.

“Don’t be gentle,” she commanded.

Pleasure isn’t love, Salindra had said. But it was so very easy to confuse them.

Kahlan was tired of uncertainty.

She knocked Darken onto his back, then climbed on top of him, roughly riding him through the layers of cloth still separating them. It was hard, it was rough, and it was unmistakably not about love.

She was already close, her body still tight from Salindra’s teasing. Her control over her power was in tatters, the tension of what to do with Nicholas, of Salindra’s upset putting her on the edge of hysteria.

Darken lifted his hands, caressing her breasts through her gown, making Kahlan moan. She grabbed his throat, still bucking against him, her eyes swirling black as she released her hold on the power of confession.

Darken of course, was already confessed, but he groaned at the sensation, his cock getting harder. Grabbing Kahlan’s hips, he arched, digging his hardness into the soft warmth between her legs, biting his lip at her cries of completion. He loved to watch her eyes go black, loved how often it drove her to orgasm, as it did now, her lips parted wide.

Not giving her time to recover, he fumbled at the clasp of his belt, finally giving up and simply pulling his robes up and her underthings down, driving into her with her muscles still clenching in climax.

She screamed his name, and Darken moaned, his eyes rolling back in his head at how hot and tight she was. Hands on her hips once more, he forced her to move against him, her cries reduced to nonsensical sounds. She told him not to be gentle, so he wasn’t, thrusting up into her with the sound of flesh striking flesh.

Kahlan could barely stand it. She was lost in sensation, caught between pain and pleasure, another orgasm building on the heels of her first. She let Darken push her over onto her back, her legs up around his shoulders, the change of angle striking a deep, sweet spot inside her.

It was only moments before she was writhing again, her hips snapping forward as she came so hard she almost wept with it, laughed with it, every nerve ending exploding at once. Darken went stiff moments after she did, her name on his lips.

She loved the sound of him crying her name, and hated herself for loving it.

Darken pulled her into his arms, and she let him, not having the strength to deny him just yet.

“Maybe this time we’ll have a girl. I know you desire a daughter,” he said with a smile.

Kahlan wept.

Unnoticed by either of them, a dusky hawk perched outside their window, observing all within.

 ** **-l-****  
“ _That_ is the Seeker?” Serena scoffed, her eyes on Richard Cypher. “He’s a boy.”

She stood with Zeddicus, in Hartland’s market, watching as Richard Cypher made a fool of himself over some girl. He brought her flowers and smiled sweetly, offering to carry the basket she used to hold her shopping.

“If he’s not good enough, you are welcome to go and find yourself another,” Zedd frowned, his brows bunching together to wrinkle his forehead.

“You were supposed to be training him!” Serena hissed. “What have you been doing all this time?”

“Letting him climb trees, steal apples, find out what makes his heart beat faster!” Zedd whispered back just as vehemently.

Serena took his arm, walking with him toward Richard, digging her nails in a bit harder than necessary. “And while he was stealing apples, my people were hunted to the point of extinction, the Night Wisps abandoned the world, and Darken Rahl’s empire swallowed kingdom after kingdom like a ravenous dragon from the old tales!”

“Enough!” Zedd snapped, then softened, his shoulders sagging. “Enough. You’ve made your point.”

They came to a stop in front of Richard, who looked up, an open honest expression on his face. Serena could see the greatness of his soul, the goodness of his heart in his face, shining from his eyes.

It was like looking into the sun.

“Hey, Old Zedd,” Richard grasped Zedd’s forearm in greeting, then looked at Serena.

“Richard Cypher,” Zedd intoned, a weight settling upon him that told his wizard’s senses that they were at a crossroads in destiny. “Meet Serena. The Mother Confessor.”

Richard blinked. “What’s a Confessor?”

 


	2. Part II

Salindra dashed tears from her eyes, angry enough to spit. In all her years as a working girl, she’d never let herself get attached to any of her benefactors. It was folly. It was asking to be broken, in heart and spirit. She knew who she was. She knew what she wanted.  
  
But Kahlan had made her forget.  
  
Maybe it was that they had been equals once. Maybe that was what made it different. Why she’d let her guard down. Told herself they were friends. More than that, even.  
  
But no more. Salindra wouldn’t be made a fool of twice.  
  
She was so intent on her thoughts that she almost ran into Mistress Cara.  
  
“Lady Salindra,” the blonde braided Mord’Sith drawled, making Salindra’s belly do flops.  
  
She could never decide if it was desire or terror that prompted the reaction.  
  
“Mistress Cara,” Salindra smiled, tossing her head to make her golden curls bounce prettily. Cara liked to be flirted with, and Salindra liked staying on her good side.  
  
It was the practical thing to do.  
  
“I would speak to you of your mistress, the queen.” Cara shifted her weight from one leg to the other, slowly cocking one hip.  
  
Salindra’s smile froze on her face. “Why talk about her when you have me right in front of you?” Lightly, she trailed one finger down Cara’s leather clad arm.  
  
Cara narrowed her eyes, her hand shooting out like a striking snake to grab Salindra’s wrist. “No games. Come.”  
  
She started walking, leaving Salindra with two choices: follow, or be dragged by the vice-like grip on her arm.  
  
Salindra followed, taking a few quick steps to walk at Cara’s side, so that it appeared as if they strolled together. She knew better than to ask where they were going. Cara would tell her or not, as she pleased.  
  
Finally they rounded a corner, ducking into the passageway that led to the palace’s temple of the Mord’Sith. Cara was taking Salindra to her private quarters, then.  
  
Salindra clenched her teeth to hold back a scream.  
  
Once they were within Cara’s chambers, the Mord’Sith flung Salindra onto the massive four poster bed that dominated the room, glaring at her.  
  
Salindra stared back.  
  
“Well?” Cara finally said, her patience at an end.  
  
“Well what?”  
  
“What has your little whore friend done to Lord Rahl? She’s bespelled him. I’m sure of it now.”  
  
Salindra gaped, then laughed. “Really? You think Kahlan is a witch?”  
  
Cara drew her Agiel, advancing on the bed. Salindra scrambled backwards, her hands held up in a gesture of surrender. “If I knew, I would tell you! Believe me!”  
  
Bitterness twisted her lips. Just a day ago, she would have at least tried to stay loyal to Kahlan. But that was yesterday.  
  
Today she knew that she could only rely on herself.  
  
“I saw them together,” Cara murmured, standing over the bed, her braid swinging over her shoulder, her Agiel held mere inches from Salindra’s flesh. “I couldn’t see what she did, but I sensed a rush of magic. Then he professed his love to her.”  
  
 _And emptied his seed into her belly as he has not done to me since he took her to wife_ , Cara finished the thought, her ambition of raising a king making her green eyes glint.  
  
“I don’t know anything,” Salindra protested, edging away from the Agiel as much as she could. “Torture me all you want, that won’t change.”  
  
Cara paused, considering the woman that laid before her.  
  
“Why question me?” Salindra asked shrewdly when it became apparent Cara wasn’t going to torture her – for the moment. “Why not just attack her?”  
  
Cara snorted. “I am loyal to the true Lord Rahl, not suicidal. I must be sure before I strike.”  
  
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I’ll report anything I see. Just let me go,” Salindra pleaded, unsure even as she bargained whether she meant what she said.  
  
Cara smiled and bent, giving her a sensuous kiss. Then she sheathed her Agiel and twitched two fingers toward the door.  
  
Salindra did not breathe again until she collapsed back in her rooms, sliding down the closed door to sit on the floor.  
  
Sometimes, she missed the brothel.  
  
 ** **-l-****  
A searing circle of flames in his mind, Darken sat bolt upright in bed, a crack of lightning blinding his eyes. He thrashed in the sheets, his heart hammering, icy shards of terror in his veins.  
  
“Darken, what is it?” Kahlan asked, voice thick with sleep, her hair mussed and matted from their lovemaking.  
  
Darken pulled her into his arms, wanting to feel that she was really there, warm and safe. “The Seeker,” he whispered into that long dark hair, inhaling the scent of her skin. “The Seeker has been Named.”  
  
Kahlan should have rejoiced at the news.  
  
But she felt only dread, and she did not know why.  
  
“What have you done to me?” she muttered, voice cracking.  
  
“I love you,” Darken Rahl replied.  
  
 ** **-l-****  
“A woman to see you, my lady. She claims she is your sister.”  
  
Kahlan looked up from her work to see Salindra standing there, smiling in all her finery as if nothing was wrong between them. "Dennee? Dennee is here?”  
  
She was relieved and horrified all at once, for surely Dennee had come because of Nicholas. Kahlan had finally sent a message to Aydindril, telling the Sisterhood of her predicament. She couldn’t immediately kill the boy without giving herself away. His death had to be carefully executed to look accidental, or implicate another, so that she could try again, to save them all.  
  
That was why he still lived, months after his birth. That was why she hadn’t killed him yet.  
  
That was what Kahlan told herself.  
  
Dennee must have been sent to help her.  
  
“Send her in,” she requested, mouth dry. Then, impulsively, “Salindra – ”  
  
The blonde turned, “Yes, my lady?”  
  
“I want – you – I… Never mind.”  
  
Salindra left.  
  
Dennee came in a few moments later, dusty from travel, but a welcome sight despite what her visit meant was coming. Kahlan rose from her seat, going to embrace her little sister, all the tears and loneliness she had shown to no one else pouring out of her in a torrent.  
  
Dennee wept with her, holding her as they both sobbed – mourning for their children, their lives, their Sisterhood.  
  
It was as if they were those two lost little girls whose father bound their hands again, clinging to each other to survive.  
  
At last, Dennee stepped back, wiping at Kahlan’s cheeks. “Look at you. Jewels and red silk. You’re a queen.”  
  
Kahlan shook her head, smoothing her hands over Dennee’s cheeks, running her fingers through that blonde hair, a shade lighter than Salindra’s. “I’m a pretender. I know why now it was written that no Confessor should be a monarch, save for in Aydindril. It’s too easy to become the evil we fight.”  
  
“Kahlan, you are nothing but good!” Dennee declared, taking her older sister’s hands.  
  
“Am I? If I am so good, why does my son still live?” Kahlan blurted, a silence falling after her outcry.  
  
“The Mother Confessor went to the Boundary, to try to reach the Seeker. She doesn’t know yet,” Dennee said after some time. “I delayed telling her, but the news must reach her soon.”  
  
“The Seeker has been Named,” Kahlan swallowed hard. “Darken had a vision.”  
  
The Mother Confessor went for the Seeker. She didn’t trust Kahlan to complete her mission.  
  
Kahlan found she could not blame her.  
  
“You came because of Nicholas,” Kahlan said to Dennee.  
  
“I came because of Nicholas,” Dennee confirmed, meeting her eyes. “But not for the reason you think. Sister, I let Mother Confessor Serena take my son away from me. I cannot tell you the regret, the heartbreak, the self-loathing I have felt ever since. I came here to stand by you, to beg you not to do to yourself what was done to me.”  
  
Dennee’s lips quivered, more tears running down her cheeks. “It has never happened twice in a generation. Surely that means something?”  
  
Her heart already swayed, Kahlan weakly protested, “But the bloodlust. The evil inherent in all male Confessors.”  
  
Dennee clasped Kahlan’s hands to her chest, her blue eyes wide, “I will be his nanny. He cannot confess me, if the legends turn out to be true. We will keep him safe. And you can have more children, Rahl girls to rule D’Hara justly. Girls who can stop their brother, if what is feared comes to pass. But for now he is only a baby. A baby with no more evil in his heart than my son’s, when the Mother Confessor took him from me and drowned him. _Please_ sister. I couldn’t save my son, but together we can save yours!”  
  
Hearing Dennee say the words that had whispered through her ever since the day she allowed her baby to nurse at her breast, Kahlan could do nothing but embrace her sister and vow to keep Nicholas alive.  
  
 ** **-l-****  
Zedd walked with Richard at his side, blazing a path through the Midlands for D’Hara’s capital, and the destiny that awaited them beyond.  
  
“Zedd!”  
  
“What?” Zedd started, taking his eyes from the path ahead of them, where Serena walked.  
  
Richard smiled. “Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”  
  
Zedd raised his brow. “What ever do you mean?”  
  
“Oh come on, Zedd,” Richard skirted a large tree root snaking across the path. “I see how you look at Serena. It’s as plain as the nose on your face that you love her.”  
  
Zedd sighed, shaking his head. “It can never be, boy. Not with her.”  
  
“But Zedd – ”  
  
Zedd was saved from having to answer by Serena calling for them, her voice urgent. Richard drew the Sword of Truth and sprinted ahead, Zedd following behind, Wizard’s Fire sizzling at his fingertips.  
  
It was not an attack, but a proclamation nailed to a tree that had made Serena scream.  
  
In bold black letters, it announced the birth of Nicholas Rahl, first born son and heir born to Darken Rahl, and Kahlan, his queen.  
  
“How could she?!” Serena frothed, old nightmares resurfacing to haunt her.  
  
“I don’t understand. I thought you said the queen is on our side. That she’d help us get to Rahl once we got to the palace. What’s wrong?”  
  
Richard was still confused about why they even needed him. If the problem was killing Rahl, and the queen was on their side, he didn’t see why she couldn’t do it. But every time he brought it up, Zedd started in about prophecies and how anyone could _kill_ Rahl, but only the Seeker could truly _defeat_ him and they went in circles until Richard’s head hurt.  
  
“Kahlan is a Confessor, like Serena,” Zedd said softly. “Any child she has will be a Confessor as well. We had hoped she’d have a daughter before we reached the People’s Palace, so that the next Rahl could be raised to be a good and just ruler.”  
  
“But?” Richard prompted.  
  
“But she has had a son, and male Confessors are inherently evil. They are supposed to be killed at birth. And yet, Kahlan has let her son live.”  
  
“I shouldn’t have sent her alone,” Serena burst, ripping the proclamation from the tree.  
  
“If Kahlan has decided to flout the old commandments of the Sisterhood of Confessors, then she may no longer be on our side. If she wants to protect her son – ”  
  
“I’m not doing anything to hurt a baby, and neither are you!” Richard exclaimed, the Sword of Truth glowing orange when he put his hand on the hilt.  
  
“Richard, you don’t understand,” Zedd tried to reason with him.  
  
“No, I _don’t_ understand!” Richard whirled to face Zedd, his back to Serena. “You’ve been telling me that Darken Rahl is evil, a tyrant, and that it’s my destiny to defeat him and free the people. You’ve been telling me that we’re supposed to be heroes. Heroes don’t kill children. I won’t let you do something so horrible!”  
  
“Horror? What do you know of horror, boy? What horrors have you seen?” Serena spat. She grasped Richard’s throat from behind, tendons standing out in her hand. He tried to turn to face her, but before he could shake her off, his eyes flooded an inky black.  
  
Later, Zedd would remember it as if it happened in slow motion - strange little details that he wasn't aware of at the time. The way the light shone through the trees, glinting on Serena's hair. The way the forest smelled of soil and greenery, and dark earthy things.  
  
The sensation of falling as the world dropped out from under him.  
  
“Richard! No!” Zedd thundered, his voice echoing with all the power of a Wizard of the First Order.  
  
“Command me, Confessor,” Richard fell to his knees.  
  
“I’m sorry it had to come to this, Zeddicus,” Serena’s voice was hard. “I know you were fond of the boy.”  
  
Zedd spared one moment to feel his heart break, and then shot a blast of Wizard’s Fire from his fingertips, willing to kill the woman he loved to save Richard from confession.  
  
It was not the Seeker he tried to save, but his grandson.  
  
There was a blinding flash, and then his Wizard’s Fire was deflected back at him by the Sword of Truth, as Richard rose in defense of his mistress.  
  
The battle was quick, and could have only one end. When Mother Confessor Serena started back on the path to the People’s Palace, the Seeker and First Wizard followed her.  
  
Both of them confessed.  
  
 ** **-l-****  
The People’s Palace looked beautiful in the moonlight. Torches winked from the battlements, looking like fireflies at a distance as the soldiers who held them went about their patrols.  
  
“How will we get in, mistress?” Richard asked. He stood to Serena’s left, on alert for anything that might threaten her, or the mission.  
  
She had told him, both him and Zedd over and over that as much as they loved her, the mission was more important, and if they had to choose, they were to put it before her. Richard hoped he wouldn’t have to choose.  
  
“I’m not sure yet, Richard,” Serena answered. “Zeddicus, what do your listening spells tell you?”  
  
“The walls are heavily guarded. Mord’Sith protect the royal wing. There are secret passages, but we would never be able to navigate them without a guide.”  
  
Serena pursed her lips, thinking as Zeddicus came over to place his hand on her shoulder. She put hers over his, giving it a squeeze.  
  
She had taken him as her mate days after confessing him. Her child bearing years were gone and done, but she saw no reason not to take comfort in Zeddicus’ embrace. With danger and destruction at every turn, sometimes the only happiness to be found was that you made for yourself.  
  
“There is more,” Zedd continued. “Kahlan’s sister Dennee is at the castle. She is the prince’s nursemaid.”  
  
“Dennee,” Serena repeated, closing her eyes to absorb this latest betrayal. Of course Dennee would help Kahlan protect the evil child she’d borne. Why couldn’t they see?  
  
Serena had thought Kahlan would be Mother Confessor, once. She saw so much of herself in the young woman.  
  
Kahlan’s actions now made them more, not less, alike.  
  
“I have an idea,” Richard said, interrupting Serena’s thoughts. “Zedd, how are you at disguise spells?  
  
 ** **-l-****  
Cara was standing in the temple proper, preparing to go on duty in the royal wing when an older Mord’Sith she didn’t recognize swaggered through the doors, a sword over her shoulder and leading two men by chains.  
  
One man was tall with long grey hair, his face haggard with age. He wore robes of some kind – those usually favored by scholars and monks. The other man was shorter, younger, his broad shoulders and well-muscled form filling out his hunter’s garb nicely. He would make a fine pet, Cara thought, if the other mistress didn’t mind sharing.  
  
The brunette Mord’Sith stopped, saluting Cara with the fist that held the men’s chains. “I have captured the Seeker and the First Wizard. I have orders to bring them to Lord Rahl at once.”  
  
“I know of no such orders,” Cara arched her brow, hand going to the Agiel strapped to her hip.  
  
“Then perhaps you are not highly ranked enough to know of them,” the older Mord’Sith spat, jerking the two men – the wizard and the Seeker – forward by their chains.  
  
Cara backhanded the other woman, only to have the two men attack her, shouting about her hurting their mistress. She subdued the wizard easily enough since he could not use his magic against her, sweeping his legs and pressing her Agiel to his temple until he passed out, his face a blotchy red purple.  
  
The Seeker was more of a challenge. He wrapped his arms around her, pinning hers to her sides while she was dealing with the wizard. Leaning back, he pulled her feet off the ground, swinging her towards the other woman who was clearly not a true Mord’Sith.  
  
The brunette reached for Cara, her hand in that pose that instantly set off alarm bells in any Mord’Sith worth her Agiel. _Confessor_.  
  
Confessors were deadly to Mord’Sith, able to kill them with a touch. Cara had no plans on dying.  
  
Cara pulled her legs up to her chest, then kicked out with both feet, her boots crashing into the Confessor. The woman flew back, and the Seeker overbalanced and fell, knocked over by the momentum of Cara’s kick. Wasting no time, Cara dug her elbow into his gut, knocking the wind out of him, then rolled to her feet, Agiel at the ready.  
  
The Confessor stood in a battle stance, a dagger in each hand. The wizard lay on the floor, still unconscious. And the Seeker gasped for air, his face white as he scrambled to his feet.  
  
Cara held up her hands in a gesture of peace, and backed away.  
  
Once she felt the wall behind her, she slid along it until she found the archway leading to the hall beyond, never taking her eyes off the Confessor. Then she was through the archway, turning to make her way to one of the secret passages that led to the royal wing.  
  
She would not sound the alarm. She would stop them before they got to Lord Rahl… but the queen and the prince they could have.  
  
 ** **-l-****  
Serena passed the Sword of Truth to Richard, then went to tend to Zeddicus, hoping he wasn’t dead.  
  
“Why did she do that?” Richard wondered aloud, looking in the direction the Mord’Sith had gone.  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Serena snapped at him, pulling her red leather gloves off to smooth Zedd’s hair away from his face. “You shouldn’t have attacked her. Have you forgotten everything I’ve told you about the importance of our mission?”  
  
Richard frowned, unhappiness radiating from him. “Forgive me, mistress.”  
  
“You’re forgiven,” Serena said hurriedly, before he got too upset. “Help me wake Zeddicus. We have to get to the royal wing before that Mord’Sith raises the alarm, if she hasn’t already.”  
  
 ** **-l-****  
Salindra padded out of her room in soft slippers, on her way to Darken Rahl’s bedchamber. She wore nothing but a deep blue dressing gown trimmed in gauzy lace that brought out the color of her eyes. Though Kahlan had never seemed to mind her husband’s wanderings, Salindra had never bedded him out of loyalty to the woman.  
  
No more. It was plain now that Salindra couldn’t count on Kahlan to provide for her future. She had to secure one for herself.  
  
Starting with a place in the king’s bed, and perhaps a Rahl babe in her belly. She was sure she could get Darken to forget his promise to Kahlan to never fill another woman with his seed.  
  
She didn’t acknowledge the part of herself that wanted revenge.  
  
She had her hand on the door when she saw unfamiliar shadows in the hall. Filled with foreboding, she ducked into Lord Rahl’s chambers and woke him as the strangers started speaking to the guards at the end of the hall in soft voices.  
  
“Kahlan,” he bolted out of bed, going to the door that connected his chambers to the queen’s.  
  
 ** **-l-****  
Serena made short work of confessing the guards at the end of the hall leading to the royal wing. Being Mord’Sith, they died quickly, the magic that made them what they were incompatible with confession. Serena swayed slightly from the strain of confessing two people so quickly, leaning back against Zeddicus for support.  
  
“Now we part ways. Richard, you go to kill Darken Rahl. Leave Kahlan unharmed if you can, but fight her if you must. Zeddicus, you come with me to the nursery, to perform the Ritual of the Waters.”  
  
“Yes, mistress.”  
  
Sword of Truth in hand, Richard stalked down the hall.  
  
Serena and Zedd went the other way, to where Nicholas Rahl slumbered.  
  
 ** **-l-****  
Salindra stood with Kahlan, behind Lord Rahl, the both of them in their dressing gowns. Lord Rahl wore only a robe of red velvet tied at the waist, and a loincloth beneath, a naked sword in his hand.  
  
“We have to get to Nicholas,” Kahlan protested, her heart in her throat.  
  
“I won’t leave you, Kahlan,” Darken returned, his eyes trained on the door.  
  
She was opening her mouth to order him to go when the door swung open, the Seeker silhouetted there. “Darken Rahl,” he said, the Sword of Truth casting an orange glow on his face. “My mistress wants me to kill you.”  
  
Then he lunged.  
  
Sparks flew as Darken parried, his red velvet robe flowing around him. Kahlan watched as they danced across the room, her teeth grit in frustration at not having her daggers to hand.  
  
Salindra screamed, then ran for the open doorway once the men were clear of it, deciding that she had had quite enough of the People’s Palace and everyone in it. She would stop only long enough to pack her dresses and steal Kahlan’s jewels, and then she would leave this place forever.  
  
 ** **-l-****  
“It is done,” Serena said, expecting to feel relieved as she placed Nicholas Rahl’s lifeless body back in his crib.  
  
But she felt only heartache.  
  
Her eyes burned, but she could not cry. She could have ordered Zeddicus to do it. But she didn’t. That would have been too easy. Would have allowed her to ignore the darkness of the deed she did for the greater good.  
  
He looked like he was sleeping.  
  
“What have you done?!” cried a voice filled with all the anguish Serena could not show.  
  
“What had to be done, Dennee,” Serena turned, looking at the young woman.  
  
Zeddicus raised his hands, prepared to use his magic, but Serena stopped him. “No, Zeddicus.”  
  
Dennee spun towards Serena, rage making her strong. Serena sidestepped out of the way of the blows, turning her daggers so that she would strike Dennee with the hilts rather than the blades. She was loathe to kill another Confessor when it wasn’t necessary, as few of them as there were left.  
  
She had weapons, and Dennee did not. But she had been traveling, fighting, worn down on the road that led them to this point. She was old, and she was tired.  
  
She was unsurprised when Dennee wrested one of her daggers away from her, plunging it into her chest. She let out a grunt, falling to her knees, blood blossoming around the dagger’s hilt. It spilled down her chest, the same color as the Mord’Sith leathers she wore, spreading in a pool on the floor.  
  
Dennee covered her mouth with her hands, backing away as Zedd rushed forward to kneel by his mistress, gathering her in his arms. Her blood stained his robes. Closing his eyes, he held his long fingered hands over her wound, his lips moving silently as he tried to heal her. White light glowed around the protruding dagger's hilt, but still Serena bled.  
  
“Mistress, forgive me,” he stroked her face, his voice choked with tears.  
  
“Shh,” Serena shushed him, feeling strangely calm.  
  
She hadn’t expected to live through this war. Now, in her final minutes, she could admit that she had stopped wanting to.  
  
“Forgive me,” she coughed, blood bubbling past her lips. She didn’t know if she was speaking to Zeddicus or the Creator.  
  
Then she knew no more.  
  
 ** **-l-****  
Richard pushed Darken Rahl back, bringing all the power of the Sword of Truth to bear. Darken barely held him at bay, bracing to hold his sword two handed, his robe long since torn, his body covered in flesh wounds, as if the Seeker meant to kill him by inches. Kahlan hovered on the edge, frozen by indecision, unsure who to aid.  
  
Then Richard lowered his blade to Darken’s neck, and Darken smirked, vanishing before their eyes. But the Seeker anticipated the trick, already turning to thrust his sword into the space behind him where Darken would appear.  
  
The Sword of Truth parted flesh.  
  
Kahlan gaped, falling back against Darken, skewered on the blade.  
  
“Kahlan, no!” Darken whimpered, forgetting his danger as his mistress died before him. Tears clouded his vision, his entire world collapsing.  
  
Richard staggered back as Darken Rahl wept over Kahlan, pressing kisses to her face.  
  
The burning love, the compulsion to please Mother Confessor Serena, the obsessive drive to do everything she asked of him was gone.  
  
He was no longer confessed.  
  
He thought he might be sick.  
  
Watching Darken Rahl fawn over the Confessor dying in his arms, Richard’s sword through her gut, Richard leaned over and heaved.  
  
“Why did you do that? Take the sword meant for me?” Darken murmured, voice scratchy, rocking Kahlan, his hands on her cheeks.  
  
“You’re confessed,” she croaked out, trying to reach for him. Her hand fell back. “Don’t – “ she began, in a sentence that would stay unfinished.  
  
Her power over Darken broke.  
  
“I’m free,” he whispered, letting her body roll from his lap.  
  
He looked up to see the Seeker watching him with wary eyes.  
  
“We’re both free now,” the man Darken knew was his brother answered.  
  
“Are you going to kill me?”  
  
Thinking of all the terrible things the people who wanted Darken Rahl dead had done to him and others, Richard answered, “Not tonight.”  
  
Together, they pulled the Sword of Truth from Kahlan’s corpse.  
  
  
 _Though all we knew depart  
The old commandments stand:  
In courage keep your heart,  
In strength lift up your hand._  
  
  
_________________________________________________  
 **Thank you for reading!** Feel free to comment, con-crit (as in giving me specific examples of how to improve, not just saying you hate such and such) welcome! **I am contemplating a third story to make this a trilogy, depending on the response to this one.**  
  



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